Hair Today Gone Tomorrow
by Wondo
Summary: Peter and Neal investigate a beauty salon. Danger awaits them!
1. Chapter 1

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

**A/N**: A heartfelt thanks to Mary, my beta reader.

Chapter 1

"A beauty salon!"

Neal Caffrey expressed his surprise and amusement.

"We're going to investigate a hairdressing establishment?" Neal considered the idea. "Peter, do we get to sample the service and products? You know, shampoo, haircut, style—the works."

"No," said Peter. His annoyed countenance spoke volumes. "What makes you think I would personally ever use a hair styling salon?"

The agent shook his head. Grabbing his drinking glass from the table, he scanned the menu, and sat back in his seat. Still smiling with disbelief, Peter returned his attention back to his consultant.

The two men were discussing their new case while having lunch at the popular new restaurant, Zorzi, in midtown Manhattan. A two-story glass and tile Venetian eatery, it was decorated with stone walls and mosaics. Recognized for its modern design and large, colorful Italian paintings, it boasted a huge center bar with slick orange chairs.

Peter had heard the Northern Italian cuisine was fantastic and better yet, the eating house offered office discounts. The din of the establishment, with its large crowd of diners and bustle of the wait staff, did not interfere with their animated private conversation.

"Oh, I thought you were going to begin a new trend." Neal smiled his mega-watt grin. "You know the polished, professional, federal agent look versus your usual rumpled Columbo style."

"Nope. You're going to have to put up with my natural panache. It's a classic."

"Right." Neal agreed. "Ah, where do you go for your haircuts, anyway?"

Peter looked pleased. "Joe's Barber Shop near the office. They give a really good deal."

Neal nodded. "I'm not surprised. Let me guess… fifteen dollars for a trim?"

Peter feigned astonishment. "How'd you know? Let me guess. You go there too."

"No, Peter. Brigitte, at John Allan's Spa and Barbershop, takes care of me." Neal neatly unrolled his napkin and placed his eating utensils next to his plate. "It's an upper scale salon that offers billiards, cigars, and drinks from the bar. You really should try it."

The agent exhaled noisily. "I hate places like that. Why would you waste your time with all that when what you need is a quick haircut?" He glanced about the restaurant. "Where is that waiter? Oh, finally. Here's the food."

Peter removed his briefcase from the table. "Anyway, let me tell you about this dubious salon," he began as he eyed his luncheon entree.

"Hold on," interrupted Neal. "Let me guess the identity. They all have unique names." As the food was served he began to spout off comical puns.

"Are we going to visit _The Last Tangle_, _Hair and Now_, _Curl Up and Dye_?"

Peter held up his hand in warning.

"_His and Hairs, Julius Scissor, Well-Comb All?"_

"Stop," said Peter.

Neal continued, "No. How about _Hair Apparent_, _Locks of Luck_, _Blood, Sweat and Shears, Combing Attractions_? Or my personal favorite —_Off The Top of My Head_?"

Neal's mentor was becoming irritated. "All right Neal," said Peter, "cut the crap!"

The consultant looked smug. "_Cut The Crap. _Amusing title but don't you think a bit crude?"

The exasperated federal agent slumped in his seat and drummed his fingers on the table.

"Let me know when you're finished."

"Okay. I'm finished." Neal motioned Peter to continue. "You were informing me about some deviant hairdresser."

As they enjoyed their Italian cuisine, Peter explained about the lucrative business of the fraudulent ID racket. One of the elegant salons, located in Midtown, was an alleged front for fake identities. A tip-off by an informant had highlighted a successful enterprise procuring new birth certificates, licenses, Green Cards, passports, and social security cards.

Undocumented illegal aliens were buying the ID's for jobs, credit cards or purchases of cars or homes. The forgeries were used in consumer fraud and running up debts in different people's names. Organized crime and major criminals used the fabricated paperwork for various aliases. The FBI was utmost concerned about the potential use by terrorists.

"We know that one of the salons in this vicinity is corrupt. The problem is our informant never had the chance to pinpoint the exact one."

"Why not?" asked Neal.

"He was found murdered before his last meeting with one of our agents," Peter replied.

"So how many salons is the office investigating?"

"A large number," said Peter. "But don't worry, you and I will only be checking out one or two."

His partner looked interested.

"You know what they say in the salon business," said Neal, as he pushed his plate away. "Life is full of challenge and struggle, but eventually you find the right hair stylist."

"Yeah," answered Peter. "In this scenario, you could call it a complete makeover."


	2. Chapter 2

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

Chapter 2

Rosa Hernandez looked up from the front desk of the Unisex Glamour Salon as Neal Caffrey paused at the door. She immediately observed his professional coiffure and debonair business attire. Here was a man strikingly handsome, with an allure of wealth. Worthy of membership in her elite clientele, Neal was immediately attractive to her.

The con man, aware of her intense scrutiny, sauntered into the establishment, casting a glance over the entry area. Brightly colored chairs were arranged around a massive ornate marble-topped coffee table. Vivid, eye-catching prints, highlighting chic hairstyles, adorned the walls. An elaborate wood cabinet, offering complimentary gourmet coffee, occupied the left side of the room. Gracing the lobby's far right wall was an antique front desk, carved from walnut.

Neal, impressed by the quality of the interior design, noted this was no plebian barbershop like those frequented by his associate. The Unisex Glamour Salon appeared to cater to New York's high society.

"Welcome," greeted the attractive, thirty-something Hispanic woman, "please come in. Have you been here before?"

"No," replied Neal. "A friend of mine recommended I stop by on my lunch hour."

Picking up one of the glossy pamphlets Rosa had been arranging on the counter, he gave her a flirtatious gaze. Rosa's countenance brightened.

"My husband and I are the owners," she bragged. "Maybe you've seen our publicity in the trade magazines? We've been recognized for our excellent service, atmosphere _and_ elite clientele."

"Tell me more," encouraged Neal with a captivating smile.

"Well, we originally opened shop years ago on Rivington Street, on the lower East Side," Rosa explained. "We still operate that starter salon which caters to our Hispanic patrons."

"We quickly outgrew that old neighborhood," chuckled a newcomer to the conversation. Rosa's husband, Pedro Hernandez, emerged from the salon room behind his wife. "We've created an entirely new specialized beauty salon and spa, in this location," he winked, "among all the trendy shops and restaurants."

"My name is Pedro," said the short, middle-aged, burly man, as he introduced himself to Neal with a firm handshake, "and you've met my pretty wife, Rosa."

"Nick Halden." Neal gestured to the area behind Pedro. "You have an enticing salon. May I have a tour?"

Rosa brushed past her husband. "I'll show Nick around," she enthusiastically offered.

As Neal toured the gleaming facility and charmed his way into the rear of the building, he noted several back rooms displaying reinforced locks on interior doors. When he commented about excess security to the enamored owner, she giggled and stuttered an explanation about safeguarding washing machines and high-end service products.

"Rosa," Neal began, his voice suddenly dropping in volume. "I'm here to discuss a confidential matter." Pressing closer to the infatuated woman, he whispered, "Let me tell you what I heard on the street…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Peter was in his office when Neal Caffrey returned from his clandestine trip to the salon. Scarcely acknowledging Neal's presence, he peered intently at his computer screen. "Finally back from your foray," muttered Peter, as he waved Neal to a seat. "It took long enough."

He turned his attention back to the monitor.

Neal shrugged.

Leaning back in his chair and smiling cheerfully, he replied, "Do you know you have a bad habit of staring at your computer when someone is attempting to have a conversation with you?"

"What'd you find out?" Peter asked, ignoring the affront, a note of irritation creeping into his voice.

"The Unisex Salon is a prestigious salon with a reputation for providing excellent service and creative styling. They are on the forefront of fashion trends and products," spouted Neal. "At least so says Rosa Hernandez. She and her husband, along with some beefy cousin named Emilio, run the whole operation. They seem to have quite the loyal clientele." Neal grinned, "For some reason, Rosa took a shine to me and couldn't stop talking about the history of her business. I can add, from personal experience, that Rosa Hernandez, herself, is a talented coiffeuse."

Peter turned sharply from his computer screen. He gave Neal the once-over, an incredulous look developing on his face.

"She gave you a haircut and style? Neal… you can't bill the government for this."

"Don't worry. Everything she provided was complimentary. Wash, cut... hair products. Free trial basis to encourage new salon patrons." Neal observed Peter with amusement. Running his fingers through his hair, he added, "by the way, she convinced me to go blond."

The agent's gaze locked on his.

"Peter, I'm joking…"

"This must be the right salon," he stated, turning serious. "Great deal of cash, flashy establishment, unusual security, odd assortment of customers trailing out of the back room — I told Rosa I was in need of her "documentation" services. Friends in high places had recommended her family _business."_

"Did she say anything incriminating?" asked Peter.

"No, she was intentionally vague. Promised her family would help me out after she receives my friends' references."

"Perfect," Peter exclaimed with excitement. "While you were off getting a facial, I tracked down an old unsavory acquaintance who owes me a favor. He confirmed the identity of the black market ring. It's your Unisex Salon, all right. He even used their services. Needed a new birth certificate."

"Is he willing to be our reference?" asked Neal.

"That's probably about all I can convince him to do. It should be enough. You and I'll make a return visit to the beauty parlor. A couple of high-end criminals needing illicit paperwork."

"Surveillance van?"

"Nope, not yet," Peter responded. "We'll be on our own. Order the documents first and follow up with a sting."


	3. Chapter 3

Hair Today Gone Tomorrow

Chapter 3

On the sidewalk outside the salon, Peter Burke hesitated. He slowly rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

"What's wrong?" asked Neal. "Is there a problem?"

"No." Peter's gaze shifted uneasily. "These kinds of places make me uncomfortable," he added somewhat sheepishly.

Neal looked surprised. "Why?"

"They just do, that's all. Why can't we be investigating Joe's Barber Shop?"

"The shop that is ten by twenty with a total clientele of five people?"

"You minimize," replied Peter. "Joe has a big ad in the office newsletter."

Neal chuckled. "FBI's 'News You Can Use'. I read it."

Peter stared at his associate in wonder. "Come on, Neal. You read 'News You Can Use'? I don't believe it."

As the two men neared the door, Neal elaborated.

"Peter, I even take it home at night… it's a great antidote for insomnia."

Peter's thoughts of a quick repartee vanished as he stepped into the beauty shop. The chemical odor from numerous products assailed his nostrils. The few times he stopped by to collect Elizabeth from hair appointments, he only increased his sensitivity to the smell of peroxide. The all-out assault on his nose made him nearly ill, an olfactory weakness he would never share with his cohort. Peter steeled himself for a disturbing afternoon of minor nausea, unaware that future events would make his receptor flaw seem quite trivial by comparison.

In the reception area, the salon's few customers were seated in cozy upholstered chairs. The patrons, all female, were sipping coffee or intently reading glossy fashion magazines. Observing them, Peter Burke was even more ill at ease.

Waiting at the front desk, Rosa and a heavy, craggy faced, muscular male bearing a remarkable resemblance to Pedro Hernandez, watched the two men approach.

"Hello Nick," greeted Rosa. "You and your friend are right on-time for your appointments. Emilio's going to escort you back."

Emilio, scowl off-set by bushy eyebrows and menacing demeanor, locked his gaze on Neal. "Come this way," he snarled. Off a corridor behind the main styling stations, he directed the partners into a private office, locking the door behind them.

"Friendly sort," whispered Peter, his sharp gaze sweeping over the large area, observing a few uncovered photo scanners, paper cutters and laminators scattered across several tables. A reinforced door, in the rear, led to an adjoining room.

Pedro, seated at one of the tables, rose to recognize the men. He acknowledged Peter with a hand greeting, and addressed Neal.

"The name you gave us checked out, Nick. Your reference is one of our satisfied customers. When I talked to him, he gave you and your associate… Mr. Miller," Peter nodded, "a fine recommendation—"

"Pedro insists we do business with you two," interrupted Emilio with a shake of his head, "but I don't like it. One telephone call doesn't make me trust you. You better be planning to pay us in cash."

Pedro smiled. "My cousin is the suspicious one. But he's also the one who takes the most risks. You see, Emilio runs the main operation at our Rivington salon. This is just our alternate storage and document pickup point."

"We need birth certificates, driver licenses and social security cards," explained Peter. "Can you handle a large order?"

"Depends how fast you need them. Of course," Pedro paused, "for a bigger fee we can expedite."

"Perfect," replied Peter. "It looks like we can do business."

The four men began to talk specifics.

Back in the main styling area, Rosa was observing her employees interact with customers. Two o'clock in the afternoon tended to be slow. Business picked up after school and before early commute; dinner time and early evenings were peak hours.

Straightening the implements at one of the stations, she noticed a man approaching her from the waiting area.

"Hey Rosa," he called out, beckoning her toward an empty cubicle.

"Hi Jimmy," she replied, a quizzical look on her face. "What's up? The paperwork isn't ready yet, and I don't have you down for a haircut."

Jimmy Martinez, a salon regular, enjoyed Rosa's styling expertise. He frequently moonlighted as one of their high end forgers. Martinez, acquainted with Neal Caffrey in several counterfeiting schemes, had recognized the confidence man outside the building.

"You and Pedro are in big trouble!" He glanced around the room, "I was out on the street and saw those two men come in here. I know one of them. What'd they want?"

Rosa waved vaguely toward the back office. "They're here to buy some paperwork. Why?" Her voice rose with anxiety. "Tell me, Jimmy."

"The snazzy dressed one is Neal Caffrey. He's a forger and ex-con on some kind of release program with the feds. Lady, you're being set up."

Rosa's face paled with fear. "Are you sure of this?" She took a deep breath trying not to panic.

"I'm sure. You better warn Pedro."

Rosa turned and rushed to the storage rooms.

Financial details of the black market venture were being discussed as Rosa stepped into the doorway of the private office. She smiled at her husband and motioned for him to approach. Both Pedro and Emilio headed in her direction. As they held a whispered conversation just outside the door, Neal and Peter took time to casually inspect the equipment and paperwork lying on tables.

As his wife left the room, Pedro turned to face his two customers.

"Sorry," he apologized with a frustrated sign. "Does your wife bother you during important business?" he asked, displaying no hint of trouble. Peter and Neal nodded. He smiled at their nonverbal acquiesce.

"Emilio," Pedro suggested, "why don't you show Mr. Miller the security in our storage room, while I talk to Nick about arranging a cash deposit."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** Thanks for the reviews. Comments and suggestions are happily received.

Chapter 4

Neal knew the deal had gone sour.

Pedro Hernandez, soft-spoken, accommodating hair salon owner, stood in a stiff posture glaring at the dapper conman. Moving directly in front of Neal, the burly male yanked a pistol from his waistband pointing it at the younger man's chest.

Peter, coming in unaware from the back room, was taken by surprise. Shoving him against the office wall, Pedro's enforcer, in one quick motion removed the special agent's holstered weapon. He held the handgun taunt against his head and glanced back at Pedro.

"I knew there was something odd about these men," Emilio said. "Their story just didn't ring true." He forcibly pressed the weapon against Peter's scalp. The agent grimaced and shifted his body slightly to the right. His eyes sought Neal, carefully motioning with his hand for him to remain still.

"Hey fed? Is there any reason I shouldn't pull the trigger?" Emilio, cocking the Glock 22, directed the question at Peter, smiling at the strain on his face.

Neal's heart clenched, ready to respond to whatever action Peter directed. He watched his friend's eyes momentarily close shut as a trickle of sweat ran down the side of Peter's face, the muscle in his cheek twitching, signaling his intense agitation.

"You don't want the heat from killing a federal agent," Neal argued, attempting to gain Emilio's attention, desperate to stop his partner's murder.

With his arms outstretched in a conciliatory gesture, he slowly moved forward and appealed to Pedro, the more rational one of the pair.

"The FBI won't stop in tracking you down." Neal wiped his sweaty hands against his tailored slacks. "Even organized crime won't help you on this one."

"Hold on," Pedro cautioned his cousin. "We're moving too fast."

Emilio relaxed his bent arm and rigid hand. Peter Burke took the momentary reprieve to catch his breath and consider his limited options.

He wondered who had tipped off the Hernandez family.

"Lock them up in the store room while I decide what to do," directed Pedro.

After searching and emptying his captives' pockets, Emilio motioned the two men to walk in front of him, directing them into the adjoining supply room. Neal entered first, followed closely by Peter. Grabbing the agent's shoulder, the antagonistic Hernandez cousin gave him a vicious shove sending him staggering to the left. Stumbling, Peter collided heavily with a table, impacted the wall, and fell to his knees with an expressive oath.

Neal, attempting to forestall another attack, placed himself in front of his friend.

"Hey," he exclaimed showing empty hands, "we're unarmed here and no threat."

Emilio glared at him with hostility. His gaze took in Peter, clutching his side, as he painfully pulled himself up from the floor. "You're not hurt are you?" he asked contemptuously.

"I hate police," added the overbearing strong-arm. "I should shoot you right now."

"Ah, technically, he's not police," argued Neal.

Peter looked coldly at Emilio. "You're in enough trouble as it is," he gasped, "if you stop at this point I can offer you a deal."

"Shut up fed," said his captor. "I've had enough from you and," he directed his pistol at Neal, "your lackey."

During the tense seconds that followed, Peter and Neal remained silent. Satisfied with intimidation, the Hernandez cousin turned and slammed shut the storage door.

Clutching his injured ribcage, Peter lowered himself to the floor.

"Are you all right?" asked Neal.

Peter ignored the question. "Neal, don't antagonize our friend any further." The agent winced. "I want to avoid broken ribs."

"Antagonize _him_! Buddy, I was the one trying to defuse the situation." Sitting down, Neal scrutinized his partner. "Emilio likes to show off his strength."

"Physical ability doesn't compensate for mental deficiency."

Neal grinned momentarily. "He doesn't seem to like you, Peter."

"I don't know why," replied Peter. "Most people find me quite pleasant."

"I've seen that… on occasion," said Neal. They exchanged glances.

The con artist paused a moment, "We're in a tough spot. Aren't we?"

"Yes, Gunga Din, we are. Any chance you can pick the lock on that door?"

"The original door lock, yes; the reinforced keypad lock, no. Umm, I can't believe I'm about to say this — it's too bad you removed the tracker before our visit."

A moment of silence met his words.

"I'll remember this conversation for future reference," Peter replied.

"No doubt… Jones knows we were coming here," said Neal. "After a few hours without word, he'll eventually become suspicious."

"Neal, we may not have a few hours," Peter, looking grim, leaned back against the wall.

Both men contemplated their precarious situation.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Quietly stepping across the threshold, holding a pistol in her right hand, Rosa entered the storeroom, closing the door behind her. As her two prisoners began rising from a slumped position on the floor, she shook her head, motioning them to remain still.

"Stay right where you are so I can watch you," Rosa ordered Peter.

Leaning against the reinforced entryway, she turned her attention to the younger man, "so, you're Neal Caffrey. Come a few feet closer, I want to talk to _you_." Neal stood up cautiously, taking a few steps toward her.

"You fooled me Neal," she admitted. "You can be very charming."

"I'm sorry Rosa," Neal answered softly. "I hope you won't hold this against me."

"I don't want to be part of what the men are planning to do. But I need some assurances," she spoke urgently, "to make it worth my while to help you."

Neal scrutinized her face. "What are their plans?" he asked uneasily.

"Pedro and Emilio are arguing about keeping you as a hostage, as leverage, in case we run into problems. They're making plans to leave for Mexico. Pedro is busy with cutting our losses."

"Emilio," she looked away with discomfort, "wants to handle Agent Burke's situation, himself. He plans to… take him somewhere. Some years ago, he spent time in a Mexican prison. The federales hurt him pretty bad. He's been anxious to even the score." She glanced at Peter. "I'm afraid he plans to take it out on this man."

"Rosa," replied Neal in a soothing tone, "you need to help both of us. Let us out of here and my friend," gesturing toward Peter, "will help you with immunity from prosecution."

Peter remained silent allowing Neal the leeway for negotiation.

Nailing the young man with a piercing gaze, Rosa asked, "Can I trust that man? He's your jailer, no? I could let you escape and you speak to the authorities for me." She spoke in a whisper, "Emilio is dangerous to cross. Maybe it's best if only you're released."

"The bureau won't help you if you allow one of their agents to be harmed. Rosa, you need to free both of us." Leaning forward, speaking with sincerity, he added, "You can trust this man. He arranged my release from prison."

Surprise flickered across her face. His earnestness overrode her caution. Directing her gaze at Peter, she asked, "You're a federal agent, right? Will you cut me a deal? No jail time."

A play of emotions crossed Peter's face. "I promise to do all I can," he paused, "release us and you have my word I'll help you."

"My husband is not crazy like his cousin. He's not harmed anyone yet." With a hint of desperation, she asked, "Will you do what you can for Pedro, too?"

Peter knew Neal's safety was his responsibility. Clenching his teeth, his jaw tense, in order to attain his associate's release, he nodded his head.

"I'll think this over," Rosa muttered. She motioned to Neal, who taking a few steps backward, moved to Peter's side. Cautiously keeping her eyes on the men, fumbling with the door, she turned and fled out of the room.

Groaning "this is a hard floor," Peter stood up and stretched.

"I think we won her over," Neal stated.

"She appears to have fallen for your charm. Neal, if Emilio and Pedro come back first… don't do anything stupid."

"Such as?" Neal eyed his partner with indignation.

"Just hang tight and wait for Rosa. Let the Hernandez' men keep to their hostage scenario."

"And you?" he challenged.

Peter tried his best to diminish Neal's apprehension. His expression unreadable, he looked into Neal's puzzled eyes. "I'll take my chance when I'm alone with Emilio—"

"Yeah, handcuffed with a pistol to your head," Neal interrupted. "Peter, Emilio's elevator doesn't go to the top floor. I can divert them with some story. Really, we can jump them!"

"Oh, look at you!" Peter remarked sarcastically. "Bruce Lee returns. All of a sudden you're going to play the hero." Peter's body stiffened with an effort of self-control, his temper close to snapping. Realizing his anger was misdirected at Neal, he took a pause.

"No. We do it my way," he continued.

"I'm only thinking of my self-preservation."

Peter's eyebrows rose with doubt.

"Can you imagine me returning to the office without you? Hughes would kill me," Neal sputtered. "I'm not going to let you walk out of here alone with that crazy cousin."

"Yeah, you are."

As Peter's decree hung in the air, Neal's silence was answer enough.

The two partners retreated a short distance from each other.

Fearing for each other's safety, angry with the circumstances, and doubting Rosa's return, they sat back down on the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Within a short time, sounds were again heard at the door. With apprehension and adrenaline pumping, Neal and Peter jumped to their feet, waiting to see the source.

Pedro holding a pistol, and Emilio fingering a set of handcuffs, stalked into the room. The Unisex Glamour Salon owner looked ill at ease while his cousin sported an amused smile.

The overbearing enforcer stared directly at Peter. Waving the cuffs in the air he swaggered forward and confronted his victim. Pausing for effect, attempting nonverbal intimidation, Emilio remained silent.

Disregarding the amateur ploy, displaying an impassive gaze, Peter locked eyes with his nemesis.

"Here to turn yourself in?" he inquired.

Neal hid a momentary smile and looked on with silent admiration.

Stiffening with displeasure, the bully reached out, forcibly shoving his captive against the wall. Pinning him by the shoulder, Emilio slammed his fist into the agent's midsection. Peter slumped over gasping for breath. The stronger man pulled his prisoner upright and again delivered another blow.

"This isn't… going to gain you any leniency on your sentence," wheezed Peter, as he struggled to pull himself up straight.

Neal, enraged with the situation, gestured for Pedro's intervention.

"Stop it, Emilio," Pedro ordered. "He's not responsible for what they did to you in prison."

"They were federales, Pedro! This one's the same. No different. We agreed; this man's mine. You handle Caffrey." He said the name contemptuously.

"Then cuff Burke and take him out of here. No more games."

"Turn around," said Emilio, as he opened the cuffs.

"Wait," said Neal.

Bristling at the interruption, Emilio turned toward the conman.

"I have valuable information to offer. It's about Burke."

Catching his audience's attention, Neal stepped forward. "Is it worth my freedom if I provide you the means for some easy cash? I know how you can get Agent Burke off your hands _and_ finance your escape out of the country."

Curiosity aroused, Pedro looked startled. "How'd you know we're planning to leave the country?"

"It makes sense. The federal authorities will pull out all the stops for a missing agent. You'll be liquidating your assets and fleeing to Mexico, mitigating the possibility of capture. I'm betting you have relatives, paid officials or someone in the drug cartel to help you disappear." Neal smiled. "Extra money will cover more bribes." He paused. "What if you can shift the kidnapping of a federal agent on to someone else? Stick them with the all the heat?"

Standing silent, breathing shallowly to ease the pain from Emilio's two assaults, Peter wondered what con Neal was fabricating. Would the two men accept the bluff? First glancing at his associate, he looked down at the floor with unease, awaiting the proposal.

"What're you talking about?" sputtered Emilio to Neal. "What information do you have?"

"Look. I'm a felon on a work-release program with the feds. If you cut me a deal, I'll help you out."

"You'd sell out your friend, here?" Emilio, gesturing toward Peter, was not convinced.

"He's my handler, not my friend. I don't want to see him hurt, but Burke's always known I put my own interests first." Neal went on. "So will you accept my offer?"

Pedro nodded. "We'll listen to what you have to say. If it's worthwhile, I'll consider releasing you after we're safe. Right now, amigo, you're valuable as our hostage."

"Enticing scenario. Since I don't have much choice…" Shaking his head, Neal sighed. "Okay. I happen to know that capo Vincent Gioeli is anxious to get his hands on Burke. The word on the street," he elaborated, "is that Gioeli's been gunning for him for weeks. He should be willing to pay you a pretty penny for his whereabouts."

"Neal…" began Peter.

"I'm sorry Peter. Maybe you can work out a deal later with Gioeli."

"Why does the mobster want Burke?" asked Pedro.

"Burke closed down his nephew's lucrative number's game with the help of some informant. Gioeli's nephew was killed. The capo wants retribution. My associate here has been laying low to avoid any nastiness."

"He's lying," sneered uncertain and suspicious Emilio, as he walked back to the doorway, handcuffs still in hand.

"Emilio, this won't take long to check out. Come on." He laughed. "We'll give Caffrey the benefit of the doubt. I'm willing to wait a little while to pick up easy money. If Gioeli wants to take care of our problem, let him."

As his cousin exited the door, Emilio paused looking over his shoulder. "If you're lying, Caffrey, I'm coming back to personally take care of you. Pedro won't stop me this time. You two are dead men."

The door slammed shut.

Peter, with a wry smile, turned to confront his associate.

"First, Emilio and now Gioeli want me. Anyone else I'm unaware of? All of a sudden, it seems, I'm a valuable commodity."

"Peter, I didn't have time to come up with a plausible story," Neal deadpanned. "So I offered this one."

Ignoring the jibe, Peter ran his fingers through his hair and breathed a sigh of relief. "You bought me some time, Neal. Even after I told you not to interfere…" He bit his lip and hesitated. "Thanks."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, story alerts and favs. I so enjoyed writing this story, it was hard to complete the final chapter.

Chapter 7

Rosa wandered among the styling stations, her agitation obvious to the few customers seated in the salon. She had been aware of the confrontation taking place a short while ago in the storeroom. Pedro had informed her that Emilio had once again assaulted the federal agent. She was concerned her negotiated deal would fall flat. Someone used as a punching bag, by her husband's crazy cousin, would not feel obligated to keep his side of a bargain.

Pedro and Emilio were now gone, busy with bank withdrawals and mob connections. Time was running out. If her plan did not materialize soon she would be left in a very precarious situation. As much as she did not want to be implicated in any man's murder, she also didn't relish the thought of returning to Mexico, spending her days as a fugitive. Rosa took slow steady steps and approached the front desk. One of her stylists, who had been overseeing the entryway, smiled as she approached.

"It's pretty slow today, Rosa. Why do you have poor Pedro and Emilio running around on so many errands?"

Taking a calming breath, Rosa slowly shook her head. "Hah. You think they do my bidding. They're busy with their own problems. Men!"

Both women glanced up as a handsome, well-dressed African American man came through the doorway.

"Okay Jeannie, I'll take care of this. Would you please start collecting all the dirty towels."

Rosa, with a backward glance at her employee, moved quickly toward the new customer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Leaning against the wall, elbows resting on bent knees, Peter watched Neal pace back and forth. Pausing intermittently, Neal would scan the small room with its scant furnishings, his glance taking in rows of paper-laden metal shelves, a sturdy oak table, and small safe nestled in the corner. Neal had long since cracked opened the safe, finding numerous forged identity papers to show Peter, but nothing functional as a weapon.

As his eyes roamed around the area, he noticed Peter's gaze. From across the room he could feel his friend looking at him with concern.

"Neal," said Peter. "Are you going to stop pacing?"

For an answer, Neal stopped and shrugged.

"What are you looking for anyway?"

"I don't know. I'll let you know when I figure it out."

"Okay, Houdini. I'll be waiting."

Peter looked at his watch. They had been in the storeroom for several hours. "Enough time has passed for Jones to be wondering where we are."

Neal shrugged again. "If he calls your cell and it goes to messages, he's going to assume we're tied up negotiating the finer details of a sting," he stated reluctantly. "I still believe Rosa may decide to help us."

His remark was met by silence. The worry in Peter's eyes was unmistakable. If Rosa failed to return, the agent planned to initiate a confrontation with Pedro and Emilio upon their return to the storeroom. He intended to create a diversion at the door, allowing Neal a slim opportunity for escape.

"Peter," Neal went on, "even a small chance of rescue makes a situation seem less hostile or desperate. You hold on to what you can salvage; little things can add up and have big results. You never let yourself be open to defeat."

Peter's eyes narrowed in thought. It was rare to hear Neal spout personal philosophy. He wondered if his young associate was offering encouragement to him or verbally reassuring himself. Neal was obviously worried about Emilio's threats. Throughout the ordeal Peter had been touched by Neal's consistent efforts to champion his partner's safety, although concern for each other was never directly acknowledged. Both men had been unwilling to alter the rigid, unvoiced rules of their relationship.

The door to the storeroom opened inward with great force. Neal was startled by the noise; Peter jumped to his feet.

"Peter," Agent Clinton Jones exclaimed, bolting through the door, pistol drawn, Rosa trailing behind him. "I'm glad to see you're both all right." His face anxious, Jones's eyes quickly swept the room.

Peter rushed to confront Rosa. "Where's Pedro and Emilio?" he demanded, grabbing her elbow.

With a tremble in her voice, she admitted they were absent from the building. "They're gone for the moment. Hurry," she said, "they'll be back soon."

Peter turned to Jones, puzzlement and relief evident on his face, "How'd you know there was a problem?"

The younger agent glanced at Rosa. "I received a tip you were in trouble," he answered.

"Jones, are you here alone?" Their rescuer nodded. "Call for back-up," ordered the senior agent. "I want to be here when her men return."

"Time for payback, Peter?" queried Neal.

"Justice," answered Peter with a glint of steel in his voice.

Neal nodded. Turning to Jones with a triumphant grin, he exclaimed, "You've never looked so good."

"Thanks," replied the young agent, "but I can't say the same for you. Neal—you actually look slightly disheveled!"

"We all have our moments," Neal explained. "I was busy keeping Peter out of the clutches of a megalomaniac's vendetta."

Peter's gaze darkened as Jones eyebrows rose. "You be sure to fill me in on this later."

As the group moved into the hallway, Rosa sidled up to Neal. "Wait a minute," she whispered. "You remember your promise. Talk to your friend."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, seated in Peter's transparent office, the agent and his consultant discussed the particulars of their case.

"It's a good thing Jones responded so quickly to Rosa's telephone call yesterday," noted Neal.

"Yeah. She was pretty vague with her message. Would only speak to someone in our office, hinting I was in trouble, requesting to speak to them in person." Peter continued, "Jones was afraid he would compromise the sting. Lucky for us, his apprehension was overcome by concern."

The agent with a far-off look in his eyes added, "He's a good man."

"And Rosa?" asked Neal.

"Rosa was only too happy to turn state's witness for the prosecution. She implicated both Pedro and Emilio in the entire forgery scheme."

"Ah Peter, what about immunity?" asked Neal.

"I talked to the prosecutor. She'll probably walk."

Peter noticed Neal's consistent scrutiny. "Yes," he muttered with resignation, as he reached for the case file, "Pedro will be offered a reduced sentence if he continues to cooperate. I stand by my word, even if it _was_ given under duress."

"And Emilio?" chuckled Neal.

"My innate kindness only stretches so far. Full charges are being filed against him, and I must admit I enjoyed my little tete-a-tete with him this morning."

"Oh, I wish I could have been there to witness that scene."

Peter turned away with an amused look on his face.

With a twinkling eye and grin, Neal added, "you must admit this case was _A Cut Above the Rest."_


End file.
